


Familiarity

by rrogers



Series: Stucky ficlets [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Not Particularly Romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrogers/pseuds/rrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change - including the artist within Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiarity

Seeing Bucky with his hair pulled back, his hands on his hips as he took a breather, made Steve’s fingers long for his sketchpad and pencil. The angle was perfect, too, in which he saw Bucky. The grooves of his metal prosthetic were such a fine detail that Steve ached to draw them; the curve of his back that needed just the right amount of shading.

A lot of things had changed since those soft afternoons in Brooklyn, in that century, all those decades ago. Steve had changed, hell, Bucky had changed even more. But what always felt the same was the way the pencil fit in Steve’s hand, the familiar wood resting between his fingers. He craved that familiarity now, and the familiarity of Bucky as his subject again. 

Shit, Bucky was looking in the mirror the entire time Steve was looking at him. He definitely noticed him staring.

“You alright there?” he frowned slightly, turning to face him. Steve cleared his throat quickly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”  
“You’ve got your artist eyes,” the corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. 

Steve felt another pang. The joke had followed them the forties, too. 

“Just thinking how much I need my sketchpad,” Steve said quickly, with a quick puff of laughter, and then braced for Bucky’s reaction. He paused.

“You haven’t drawn me since I got back.” 

Steve cleared his throat.

“Not – not entirely true.”  
“What do you mean, ‘not entirely true’?” 

Steve could feel the tension, the kind of tension that came when Bucky became unsure of something. Since returning, he had to be absolutely sure that something had happened, or risk being triggered into Winter Soldier mode. That hadn’t happened yet – not yet. But when Bucky became confused, or uncertain, Steve and the others had to work quickly to reel it back in, and take control of the situation.

“Only a few times,” Steve said quickly, which was a lie – he had drawn Bucky a lot of times recently, “Like – when we were watching Star Wars, and you fell asleep. I – drew you then. Also when Nat was helping you with your phone. Moments where you can’t tell I’m watching.”

Bucky was silent, mind finding the memories of those specific events and changing them, adding this piece of information. Re-establishing those memories – editing them, to accommodate these new truths that had come to light. They had to be true – Steve had said they were. 

“Alright,” Bucky said shortly, “Alright. Show me.”  
“Show you?” Steve said, startled, “The drawings?”  
“You were a damn fine artist back then, Steve,” he grinned suddenly, “You’ve had seventy years to practice.”  
“I didn’t –”  
“Come on,” Bucky waved a hand, moving over to their gym bags, “If you’re the same nerd as you were, you’ve got it in your bag. Taking it everywhere you go.”

Steve grinned at that, following him. He squatted down next to the bag, unzipping the side pocket, pulling out first the sketchpad, and then a tiny stub of a pencil.

He sat down, leaning against the wall, stretching his muscle sore legs out in front of him. Bucky dropped down next to him, leaning back and hitting the brick with a thump. 

Steve hesitantly opened the sketchpad at the end, flipping back to the most recent sketch of Bucky. It was that morning, Bucky hunched over his coffee mug at the table, hair down and covering his face. Bucky traced a line over the quick outline of the kitchen bench, contrast to the level of detail Steve had drawn him in. The focus was well and truly on Bucky; the background not nearly as important as the subject. He brushed his finger over the date in the bottom right corner, frowning slightly, taking a moment to remember. He nudged Steve in the ribs, telling him to continue.

Steve was flipping backwards, pausing for a moment at each one, when he felt Bucky’s head on his shoulder. Steve settled back into a more comfortable position and rested his head against Bucky’s, pausing for a moment to commit this to memory.


End file.
